His hands ran up and down my sides and fastened around my hanging tits, squeezing them, like he was milking a cow. His balls slapped against my crotch...and I could feel his pubic hair against mine as his blood filled slab of meat thrust in and out of my slick little box. He wasn’t accurate with his thrusts, and often came out of me, which excited me even more as the feeling of a cock leaving, and entering my pussy was fantastic. I also had to return most of his thrusts, to ensure I too was. And when she found out he didn’t want half-a-dozen k**s, not even one, she walked out. Much to the relief of his guilt-ridden conscience.He moved on from one woman to another. Beyond work, he was an orgasm addict. A female flesh addict. If it weren’t for casual hook-ups, it was hookers and massage parlors and then Professional Dominatrices. She was one of them. Serena. The LAST one, as it turned out. And within one month of their first “session”, She moved in with him. Only three months later. More

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